I’m incapable of thought, of breathing, as he worships me with his eyes. Consumes me with his gentle promise. I can’t think if he’s ever spoken to me with such devotion, but it’s a fleeting thought when he bows his head and I realize I no longer have any reason to resist.
“Say yes,” he coaxes with that low, hypnotic drawl that whispers across my skin. “Please.”
My lashes pull closed with the dip of his head. With the brush of his lips a heartbeat from mine.
This is a dream.
It ... There is no other explanation. No doubt in my mind that I’m still passed out on Aunt Laura’s sofa. This is an extended scene, a bonus track from my dream with my fantasy demon. Why else would everything be so fuzzy? Why else would they even be here, in this house, after all this time?
“I can’t. My parents...” I open my eyelids to find him inches from my face. The wide contours of his eyes, the heavy darkness of his lashes. I can nearly count every dusky strand. “But I can come visit, or we can make other arrangements...”
I’m not sure what kind of response I’m expecting. Annoyance, maybe. But he seems to have expected that when he gives a soft sigh and sweeps my cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.
“We have the night.” His lips follow the path of his finger. I cage my breath, too afraid he might stop. But he lingers on thespot, burning my skin and sending a riot of tingles down my spine. “You will beg to be ours by the end of it.”
The air escapes my throbbing lungs in a weak rush. It’s embarrassing how loud it sounds in the stillness of the room.
But Lukan pulls away. His dark eyes search my face once before he turns to the cupboards. From one — like he knew exactly where to look — he unearths a box of ginger and turmeric tea and sets it on the counter.
“Go sit with the boys,” he tells me. “I’ll make you some tea.”
I’m still staring at the box. The exact same one I have back home. It’s even the brand I prefer. While I don’t think I hold monopoly over a particular tea brand, the fact that Aunt Laura drank the same one has me baffled.
Still, I relent. It’s honestly not that big of a deal. People can have the same taste in beverages. Besides, it’s a fairly common brand. I think.
I turn away from Lukan and the kettle he’s dragging out of another cupboard. He takes it to the sink to fill with water while I face his brothers.
Neither says a word, but they watch me in that quiet, contemplative way that fills me with a snake pit of guilt. I know they were hoping I would accept their offer and board the next plane to Vancouver, but the shortsightedness of it also has me disappointed in them.
I have parents.
I have family and responsibilities.
I have a job. Okay, so, maybe my job is easy to relocate, as long as I have a computer and internet.
But I can’t just pack up and jet off whenever I want. Plus, money is an actual thing that I need to consider. Sure, I have a bit saved for emergencies, but not random impulses.
Do I want to be with them? Yes. Without question. But they need to meet me halfway. They need to sit down and have an adult conversation that we can all work with comfortably.
But I also need a minute. I need to process everything, including their mysterious appearance in the dead of night in the middle of a snowstorm. They still haven’t told me how they knew I would be here. These are all things that we have all night to get into.
For now...
“I’m going to change,” I tell them, already moving in the direction of the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
No one stops me. I don’t think I expected them to, or maybe I did. Maybe I thought they’d try to push the issue again, but they continue to say nothing as I leave the room.
In the corridor, I pick up my pace. I reach the foyer where my duffle still sits next to all the discarded shoes now stuffed inside the rack. I gather up the straps and sling them over my shoulder. My gaze flicks to the oil painting mounted over the hallway table. The grotesque depiction ofDante’s Inferno. The sight of it has me shaking my head and turning away.
I stop. My hurried attention catches on the clock and the silver hands resting on the seven and one.
Weird.
I could have sworn the hands were gold, but I let it go as quickly as the thought jumped into my head and continue the rest of the way up.
It doesn’t take rocket science to not pick the last door at the end of the hallway. As much as I want that masterpiece, sleeping in Aunt Laura’s bed, in her room, in her house, feels wrong. Like an intrusion. The woman may be dead, but that doesn’t mean she’d appreciate someone making themselves comfortable amongst her things.
